PICTURE PERFECT LIE
515 Words
The silence of the house greeted me when I woke up.
A house. Not a home. At least, not to me.
No voices. No footsteps. Just the slow, steady ticking of the clock on my wall.
Even a prison had noise. Doors slamming. People shouting. But this?
This was something else.
Quiet like grief.
Or a warning.
I stepped out of my room.
Something pulled at me, some restless part of me that couldn’t sit still.
I needed proof that I wasn’t losing my mind. That I had really lived here. That this life was mine.
The hallway was dim, the tall windows letting in thin strips of morning light. The shadows stretched long across the floor, like they were reaching for something. Or someone.
I turned a corner and froze.
There was a room like a private gallery. Dozens of photos, large and small, framed in gold and silver. All glossy. All perfect.
I walked toward them like I was sleepwalking.
A bride and groom stared back at me from almost every frame. Me. And him.
My breath caught.
In one photo, he was kissing my forehead. His arm wrapped around my waist.
I was in a white dress. Smiling.
But something felt… off.
I looked closer.
My smile it didn’t reach my eyes. It looked like something I’d practiced in front of a mirror. Like I was doing it because someone asked me to.
And him?
His smile was all lips, no soul. Cold. Like a mask.
I stepped back, looked at another. Then another.
They were all the same too perfect.
No blurred shots. No messy hair. No unplanned laughter.
Just two beautiful strangers posing for a life they might never have lived.
Was I happy before?
Were we ever in love?
Or did I marry someone I barely knew?
Someone who hated me now… because of something I couldn’t even remember?
I whispered to myself, “Who were you, Jade?”
I looked at more photos, waiting for a flicker of recognition. A memory. A feeling.
Nothing came.
Then one frame caught my eye. It was half-hidden behind another.
I pulled it out.
Empty.
No picture inside.
Just the outline where one had once been.
Someone had taken it out.
My stomach twisted.
Another photo caught my attention. This one was of us kissing. Intimate. Deep.
Like real love.
But even that felt off now. Was it just for the camera?
Then footsteps behind me.
I turned.
Mr. Black.
Of course.
He always showed up like a shadow. No warning. No sound.
Didn’t CEOs have better things to do than haunt their wives?
He stared at me. Cold. Always cold.
“If you’re done digging through the fake memories,” he said, “maybe you’ll stop pretending you’re the victim.”
There it was again. That bite. That venom.
This man was out for blood. Out for me.
“Were we even really married?” I asked before I could stop myself.
He didn’t answer.
Just turned and walked away.
And somehow…
his silence said more than any lie ever could.
- Writer
